Smith Alumnae Quarterly/Volume 45/Number 2/Portrait of Two Sisters

​Portrait of Two Sisters

Emily and Lavinia Dickinson

By ELIZABETH DICKERMAN '94

I NEVER saw but one of them! But the other was always mysteriously there, the hidden treasure of the great house. My mother used to take me to call on Miss Lavinia (or Miss Vinnie as we called her). After first greetings I was often sent away from the piazza, where they sat in spring or summer, into the big bright kitchen leaving the two friends free to talk. Between bites of Maggie's good cookies, I would look at the spotless pastry board under the big windows and imagine Miss Emily making a delicious charlotte russe with a rare flavor new to the little minister's daughter. Or perhaps Emily had said, "I shall make wine jelly tonight"—like the clear, bright glass that once came with the written line: The love of the grape—Catawba

She wore white, people said. What kind of white dress would it be, I wondered, thinking of my own pretty, new white flannel frock. "Oh, nothing great," my mother had answered, "something like Miss Vinnie's little black one"—a fitted waist and long, full skirt.

When I came out on the piazza again, the call was over. Both faces were sad. There had been trouble and fierce resentment. "Remember, Vinnie, you have a sister," Miss Emily had said when she heard the tale. "But what could that Poor One do?" said my mother full of sympathy.

As we came away past the conservatory, I looked in on Miss Emily's flowers. In frigid wintertime she sometimes watched them all night using a tiny oil stove to temper the air and keep them from freezing. "The plants went into camp last night, their tender armor insufficient for the crafty night." Lovely blossoms came from there—jasmine, tuberoses, hyacinths—in a May basket, perhaps, which bore the cryptic words:

"There are two Mays
 And then a Must
And after that a Shall.
How infinite the compromise
That indicates I Will."

One long-cherished letter, heretofore unpublished, came with daphne.

Dear friend:

Daphne always seems to me a more civic arbutus though the sweet Barbarian will forgive me if the suggestion is invidious for are not both as beautiful as delight can make them? If we love flowers are we not "born again" every day without the distractions of Nicodemus? Not to outgrow Genesis is a sweet monition.

With affection
E. Dickinson

After Emily's death came the discovery of the poems, preserved in her desk, neatly tied into little packets. Miss Vinnie used to make swift little visits to our home after dark to read them, talk about them and discuss how they could be made into a book. Her brother Austin's sardonic letter to Col. Higginson reveals his attitude toward Vinnie and the poems.

"My Sister Vin, whose knowledge of what is or has been outside of her dooryard is bounded by the number of her callers, who had no comprehension of her sister, yet believed her a shining genius, was determined to have some of her writing where it could be read of all men, and she is expecting to become famous herself thereby, and now we shall see."

Words like these are sorry comments on a life's devotion. Emily once wrote to a friend who had lost his brother:

"Your bond to your brother reminds me of mine to my sister, early, earnest and indissoluble. Without her life was fear and Paradise a cowardice except for her inciting voice."

Always she was alert to fend off trouble from the dearly loved one and to bring the choicest things for her enjoyment. Visitors came and went, invited on their arrival in town by little notes like summonses from a sovereign. Rare bits of their discourse were saved out for Emily who knew these people without being known.

Three letters from Miss Vinnie to my mother after our family went away from Amherst show her continuing devotion.

Beloved friend:

Thank you for good tidings of your dear selves. I miss you and the opportunity to share my luxuries with you. The lettuce still refreshes the neighbors but will be ended before you return. I rejoice you have found a place of rest. I wish I was with you. I should always love to be with you because you see I love you. I am busy as always in the ways you know—sometimes weary, always full of longings.

If pussy lives? The last little pussy has been very ill but at present seems recovering and appeals constantly to my sympathy. Maggie is pretty well. The friends come and go. Some days I talk most of the hours. I never ask "to be excused." … Stay away for your own sake as long as you improve in health, but for me come back! I want you to realize to the full my greatful affection and with love for you all I continue

Lavinia

Beloved friend:

I had been thinking inordinately of you and was about to tell you so when your dear words came. "Blest be the tie that binds" means volumes. I rejoice you are almost altogether in your 2nd home. How I should delight to make you one of my old fashioned calls and I know the hearty welcome that would greet me and the appreciative audience I should have. Perhaps when A. is my neighbor you will sometimes stop at my door. We shall always begin where we left off. …

My garden and grounds would delight you. The beautiful rains have helped me wonderfully. You will be glad to know a 3rd volume of "Emily's poems" will be published soon. My pussies are a great comfort to me. I have only 6 at the present time.

Accept my unabated affection for you all. Speak again.

Lovingly
Lavinia

Beloved friend:

I rejoice you are in a home once more and part of the dear ones with you. It seems ages since that summer day we talked together and touched each other's hands and lips. The world was full of roses then. Now the world is white with snow and all outdoor pleasure an impossibility, but my affection is the same. Climate can't burn or chill the true metal. I hope you have a well household. How I should like to look in upon your happy circle. When I am a Fairy I shall stop at your door first. …

You will be glad to know "Emily's Letters" are in the printer's hands and the proof is showing up quite rapidly. You will be enchanted with the volume. Can you pardon my long silence?

Emily says in one of her poems: "the things we thought that we should do, we other things have done." How true that is of almost every day. … Please be forgiving and tell me early you love me as of old. I am grateful for finding you in this big world. I might have missed you in the crowd. Love for each dear one.

Affectionately
Lavinia